


bloodsport

by biiitchofCambridge



Series: dragon age shorts [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Biracial characters, Brown Characters, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child(ren) OC, City Elf Origin, Dad Zevran, F/M, Female City Elf - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, My city elf warden Rosie is here!, Post-Dragon Age: Origins Quest - Morrigan's Ritual, Pregnant Character, Queer Characters, The Dark Ritual, The Warden - Freeform, The ace is here to stay!, Zevran Has A Child, aspec characters, its pretty light though, nsfw at the end, suicide ideation, the ultimate sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biiitchofCambridge/pseuds/biiitchofCambridge
Summary: She had beautiful lips-- they were puffy and pink and always smiled whenever he made a joke.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden, Zevran Arainai/The Warden
Series: dragon age shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571539
Kudos: 27





	1. loving you is a bloodsport

**Author's Note:**

> Here's one of my fav oc's-- honestly, they all are, but Ev and Rosie are at the top because they're the first two I thought up and therefore waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more developed. I try to develop my other OC's, I truly do, but Rosie and Evony are my comfort characters.
> 
> ***minor nsfw stuff at the end in case that's not for you!  
> ***mention of a broken limb, graphic healing mentioned...
> 
> also, Rosie is aspec, specifically demisexual, for those who cared :D

Rosie’s hair was long, blonde and kinky-curly. She wore it in a long, tight braid down her back-- her bangs would frizz out into her face, sticking to her sweaty skin when she fought darkspawn. She was talented in fighting; she fought with no sense of preservation, less tact and more damage. And she could take the affront-- she was too brash to be a rogue, he knew this. But her lithe, long figure was misleading. She had dancer’s feet-- she would copy Leliana when she did her Orlesian _ballet_ for fun and she handled herself with just as much grace. Zevran was always so _enamoured_ when he was with her, something he thought he’d never say.

Love was often a sport to him-- most things were to him, though. But she was just as competitive as him-- she fell in love so _easily_ and she _knew_ it but accepted it so whole-heartedly-- but she deflected all of his advances in such a sweet way. Lead him on by his heartstrings and sometimes _little Zev_ when she felt particularly flirty. She had beautiful lips-- they were puffy and pink and always smiled whenever he made a joke. Her face was so open, too-- he could read her face for hours. Even her ears were expressive-- they twitched when she was excited, they pinned when she was mad, they shivered when she was cold. That was the only time she’d crawl into his tent-- when the ground lay thick with frost and her Mabari would leave her side to keep Morrigan warm-- she would shimmy in beside him, half-cursing her dog out as she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, cuddling into his chest. She always smelled like rose-hip hair oil and mint leaves; her nightrail and soft leggings were modest, providing a comforting bagginess without being frustrating.

He’d asked her why she would do that in the morning-- her responses varied from gentle teasing to half-coy half-grumpy groans as she snuggled closer. They always ended with _You’re warm_. He’d hold her until he felt himself harden, then he would roll over-- he did not want to start anything she did not want to do.

She started holding his hand when they walked through the woods-- she brushed her fingers over his cheek in passing, pressed her lips to his chin and cheek in the cold, grey mornings. She brought a sense of warmth with her always because she always went out of her way to touch him. But she didn’t just touch _him_.

She gave great big bear hugs to Morrigan each morning, gentle kisses to the corner of Leliana’s mouth when she finished a song, gentle head scratches for Alistair as he laid his head in her lap after a long day of battle-- she braided Sten’s hair with a type of motherly patience that Zevran grew fond of watching. She cuddled up under furs beside Wynne as she healed her hurts and made her hot cocoa with _guimauves_. Wynne kissed her temple after she’d say something sweet; it was easy to forget that Rosie was a murderess and Wynne could crush men under rocks when they acted like mother and daughter. Her and Shayle would giggle like schoolgirls in the lowlight of the Dog Lords as they looked over crystals-- Even Ohgren could not escape her touches-- she’d flick his ears and punch his shoulders and giggle when he got mad. She washed puke off his beard once he was asleep, not that she’d ever admitted that and not that Oghren let on about it. But he was the only person she pressed her whole body to; he was the only person she’d curl up on like a cat lazing in the sun.

Her love snuck upon him-- he would flirt with her, expecting nothing but a friendly peck on the cheek and that beautiful smile and the little ear twitch she was famous for-- but one day she just winked, turned even _rosier_ , and kissed him on the corner of his mouth before slapping his ass and breezing away. Alistair made fun of him for it-- “You’d think we’d switched minds,” he chortled, clapping him on the shoulder. Then Zevran made a lewd comment about Alistair’s sexual standing and how _that could be easily remedied if you only asked nicely._ He turned pink and walked away; Zevran did love watching him go.

The next time they’d flirted, he went in to kiss her, but she pulled away, connected only by breaths-- she stuck her tongue out and prodded his cupid’s bow, then winked and kissed the tip of his nose before getting up and breezing away. He’d never been more confused or turned on his entire life.

And the sparring made it worse. _Oh, Maker, so much worse._ But he never said no, not once. She would land him flat, teasing him with her smiles and lingering touches-- when she landed on top like she always did, she’d kiss him soft and sweet, despite nearly choking out him four seconds earlier. Then she would roll off like a little mabari pup and help him.

Rosie was so vibrant in living it was easy to forget she was mortal. She’d be the last to fall in battle, but when she fell, she fell _hard._ She’d gone up against an ogre; after she’d stabbed it through with one of her swords, it began to fall forwards and landed on top of her. She managed to only break her arm, but watching Wynne manage the bone back into her forearm was not an easy task. He frog-marched her into his tent, pulling her into his bedroll and slipping her head onto his chest. That was the first time he’d ever initiated contact before-- she nearly started crying.

“Loving you is a bloodsport,” he whispered exasperatedly. Then he kissed her with a gentleness he didn’t think himself capable of; she sighed into his mouth and her eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheekbones.

“I love you, too.” She smiled with enough exuberance to light a million skies. He flushed, _enamoured_ , and she slipped her fingers under his tunic, tracing at his tattoos.

“Show me,” she whispered. He pulled his shirt off, showing her the fine art inked into his skin. She showed him intimacy, but he showed her pleasure. Like her, he was patient, building. Expected nothing in return for months-- she learned she didn’t care for it overmuch, but still found solace in it. 

  
He bit her once; she gasped into his ear, then chuckled as she brought her fingertips from her center to her bruised neck-- _“Loving_ you _is a bloodsport,”_ then she kissed him fiercely. They were both competitive in this; sparring, loving, waking up in the grey sunlight that seemed so much better with her kinky-curly hair haloing his marked chest-- dark red lines and black ink swirled into a story he’d never share-- one never gives the secrets of the bloodsport away.


	2. la ragione per cui vivo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran would tickle her back when she was sleeping. Count the knobs like promises and map her back muscles like a cipher he was desperate to memorize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't updated this bad boy in forever, so I decided to drop some angst onto your lap this fine Thursday!

They are sitting in a dark room, all alone together. Alistair looks at her with such sadness, such remorse.

“I will if you want me to, but I don’t want to,” he said. He choked a little on his words, “I _ can’t  _ bring a kid into this world as my father brought me.”

Rosie chewed her cheek for a moment, her heart melted; she pinched his cheek, attempted to remain chipper, “I can’t force you to do anything you do not wish to.” She was trying to keep from crying, Alistair knew, and he hated himself for it.

“I’m sorry I asked,” she smiled as she stood from the bed. She went to leave, but he caught her wrist--

“I’m sorry I can’t stomach it,” he said, his whole shoulders shaking. He looked so small there, even though he towered over her on her tallest days.

She slipped him into a hug, as she loved to when he got down; she pressed a friendly kiss to his freckled forehead.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Riordan’s plan can still work,” She rubbed his shoulder before she took her leave from his room.

She collapsed on his door once it was closed; once she saw Rosie’s defeated tears, Morrigan scoffed. There was pain, albeit hidden, deep in her golden eyes.

“He’s  _ truly  _ incompetent, I’ll speak to him--” She made her way to the door, but Rosie did not move.

“You won’t, Morrigan,” Rosie said. Her words, although quiet, were finalizing.

Morrigan stood still, simmering silently. 

“If that’s how it must be.” She sniffed. Then, she turned on her heel and left. Rosie did not know where, but she trusted her friend would return.

Zevran would tickle her back when she was sleeping. Count the knobs like promises and map her back muscles like a cipher he was desperate to memorize. He had the kinks of her baby hairs on the back of her neck teased into loose curls and her frizzy bangs pushed behind her ears-- her brown eyes, like whiskey and rum and molasses, were on display like a crown jewel. To him, they were.

He couldn’t fathom how much he loved her. How much his chest ached when she smiled at him; she smiled and hugged and teased everyone she ever met, but she had that shy little grin, just for him. She’d peek through her sleepy lashes, wiggle her nose and pink just enough to highlight her glimmering cheeks-- it knocked the wind out of him every time.

He liked to catch her staring, too-- how’d she’d be eating whatever blighted gruel Alistair whipped up and staring at him with such interest that he felt his chest puff with pride. She knew his tattoos inside and out, knew what he tasted like in the middle of the night, but she still blushed like a cloistered sister when he’d wink back at her intense affections.

Rosie cuddled into his chest, rested her chin on his ribs and listened to his heartbeat. How that rhythm soothed her better than any song she’d ever heard. She didn’t sleep the night before the battle, just watched him twitch and mumble in his sleep, watched him lock his fingers into her hair and sigh when she ran her fingers over his ribs like piano keys. How she played him like an instrument that was attached to her hips, how she kissed so silently that morning.

Zevran knew she wasn’t well when she looked at Riordan’s corpse with disappointment. He knew she wasn’t right because she was as bright as the sun and warmer than any hearth-- but she was cold and dark. She did not smile when she battled through the tower, she did not laugh when her slices landed true, she did not giggle when Zevran kissed her cheek. She gave him that careful look, kissed his lips tightly before she offered him one last grin, that shy one that was just for him.

She was not Rosie Tabris, local sweetheart and fantastic fighter, but Warden Tabris-- calculated, brazen, true. She took down that dragon with him, Alistair and Morrigan, but she could’ve done it alone. When it laid down, skin sliced and blood sluicing rivers, Alistair stopped her.

“I’ll do it.” he held his sword out. Rosie went to give him a hug, and she did. She was shaking, shivering, her ears wobbling like it was a Wintermarch snowstorm. She was crying, he could see through her helmet grill. She cradled the back of his head, gave him a tearful smile before she brought her forehead onto his bare face. She knocked him out flat; they watched his body crumple.

“No!” Morrigan cried.

“Please!” Zevran hollered, chased after her as she brought one of her swords down onto its head--

A harsh beam of light blew him back and knocked him flat. Zevran dips in and out of consciousness in those dying moments; when the Archdemon is dead, he finds his footing and rushed to Rosie.

Her proud back is limp. Her hair is brittle. She’s laying face-down. Zevran crumpled, hollowed-out and echoing, onto his knees and pulled her over onto his lap.

Her face was the same; just as beautiful. Her nose is just as finely carved, her freckles just as brown. Her lips were still plump and her eyelashes were still sleepy. But she was pale, no longer her blushed brown exuberance. And that hit him the hardest;  _ he’d never see her blush again. _

Zevran cried like his world would end because it did. He cried into her hair, still warm with life, and smelled her drying sweat and the Archdemon’s blood on her armour. He didn’t realize what he was saying until it was too late.

_ “La ragione per ciu vivo,”  _ he whispered into her skin. He kissed her cold lips, just because she’d never kiss him again, and he stood; laid her head carefully onto the ground, pushed her stubborn bangs behind her ears, kissed her forehead one last time.

Then he walked to the edge of the tower and looked down. He’d never feel impact.

“If you do it, she’d be so disappointed in you.” A voice called. Zevran turned.

Morrigan was crying. Sobbing, really. She gripped her chest and stared hatefully at Alistair, who was still knocked out.

“She’s not here,” he whispered, barely there. 

“But what she was means something. Mourn her as you like, but she’d curse you out if you took another step towards the edge; you and I both know this,” Morrigan hissed.

Zevran looked at her body, looked at the edge. Both were ends.

“She’s my everything,” Zevran said finally. He forced his muscles, one by one in that pivotal moment in his life, down from the ledge. He crumpled to the ground. He watched her hair blowing softly in the wind. He remembered her laugh so vividly. How soft her thighs were. How much she loved strawberries. When she was sleeping, how she’d make this little snuffling noise if he moved away from her…

Zevran never really loved again. A piece of him, the softest piece, broke off and died with her. No matter how much he thought about another’s body, her giggle would ghost in the back of his head.

And he lived with the memory of her. Tumultuous, free, brave, beautiful. He dreamt of that last smile every night for years and missed it when he stopped dreaming. Thought of how she hated goodbyes and only ever said,  _ Until next time. _

But when was their next time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, this is the "bad ending". I'll eventually get to the happy ending. Eventually.
> 
> Comments are welcome and keep me inspired for like, twenty-five billion years (someone left a comment on one of my other fics and I legit sobbed, it was kinda sad)
> 
> feel free to hmu on Tumblr @ biiitchofcambridge :)


	3. amaryllises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Amaryllis,” he says quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> better ending.. sorry about the disappearance, work has been kicking my ass lately!

It was a month after the Archdemon was slain. Rosie was in her office, signing papers and reading ledgers. She was fine at it, too, but it wasn’t her. She missed shaking hands with people and smiling at children and dancing in the Alienage.

_ “Mi amor,”  _ a soft voice called. Rosie looked up from the papers that had claimed her all evening. She took a moment to focus, but when she did, she saw him as she should always see him.

Zevran wore a smile. He had clothes, yes, but his tunic was too large and it hung over the line of his boney shoulders and his pants were tight, tight enough to see the muscles in his thin legs and the way his hipbones jutted like smooth-cut stone. But Zevran was not cold, and more importantly-- he was Rosie’s favourite version of himself--  _ whole.  _

He slinked to her desk and crossed to her, smiled down at her as he slid into her capable lap. “I missed you,” he whispered. Rosie wrapped her arms around his waist, pulled his bum closer so she could tip her head up to kiss him-- and they did, slow and sweet and with no heat, no push, no press. Rosie rested her head on his chest and he combed her long hair in his fingers.

“I missed you, too,” she hummed at his collarbone, smelled the oils he used in his hair and the creams he used on his skin.  
“As you should, I am fantastic,” he chuckled as he took her head in his hands and tipped her face back. She had a busted lip that was a week healed, and there was a cut over her eyebrow that had healed completely, save for the tiny pink scar that would fade in due time. She was weary, the same way he was. He kissed the bruise on her mouth, just gently. Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight and he felt her dip her fingers into the waistband of his leathers.

They have an unspoken language that they’re still learning to speak-- most days, Zevran can decipher what she wants with just a look, but in the few moments he struggles, she helps decode. Her fingertips, scarred and scuffed as they were, traced the lines dipping in his skin around his hip. She knew them without looking, he knew-- she knew everything about him.

“I know I haven’t seen you in a while,  _ mia bella rosa,  _ but don’t be rash, you don’t need to--” he leaned in to kiss her, but she squeezed the hard muscle of his ass. She looked at him with fire tinged around her eyes.

“I want to,” she whispered, “I want to for this night.” Her eyes were intense, the kind of intense that made his prick ache. She kissed his lips slower, licked the inside of his mouth like she was looking to eat his heart out.

“I love you,” he said. She bit his bottom lip, giggled at him before she slipped her hands into his pants and grabbed his bare ass--

“I love you most.” Her nose pinked, her mouth red, her eyes that sexy brown that made him think of whiskey and rye and chocolate and dark velvet dresses and leather and the mountains and the sky, blacked-out and dark and infinite. He kissed her again, and she gripped him harder, beginning to rock his hips. One hand snaked up his abdomen, flitted at the soft skin and the way his flat stomach rolled with fat that he was allowed to have now… she sighed as she tickled at the depressions, twisted her face to slot their faces better together.

She tasted like promises and apple pie and she was never tentative in life, nor in affection, but the way she turned her head shyly when Zevran helped her from her clothes, the way she hid herself… Zevran held her for a long time, and she held him down like she said she would...

… He awoke in the early morning. He was leaving for Antiva in a few hours, just as the sun completely pulled over the horizon. He had time. She was there, watching his rise with the fall of the stars. He laughed at her, just with how lovesick she was, and she pinched his cheek as she kissed him alive. He kissed her collar. He kissed the bone between her breasts that sticks out in a small bump. He kissed the scar on her left side, running alongside the ribs. He kissed her bulged abdomen, kissed her three times there before he kissed her mouth again.

“You’ll be back in a fortnight?” She asked. He nodded, brushed his hair behind his ear.

“I’ll see them come into this world,” he promised. Rosie brushed an errant lock behind his other ear.

“Fight well, love,” she said. He smelled the amaryllises in the window, heard the quiet clang of Vigil’s Keep.

“I’ll bring back roses this time,” he promised. He promises much. And who is he to break a promise to someone who’s never shattered, not once?

__

Rosie does not cry when she labours. She holds the backs of her thighs and pushes and pushes when she needs to and screams when she must, but no tears fall. Not even when she’s certain she’s being ripped in half, that her child is a monster and is ripping her insides apart, that she’s being stabbed and stabbed and stabbed--

Zevran is crying as Evony cradles Rosie’s perspiring head-- Anders is between her legs, soothing when he can as he positions her baby’s head, their shoulders and their hips as she gives one final push--

Zevran is crying. Evony is smiling, kissing Rosie a job done well. Anders is wiping the baby down, tears in his eyes as he watches the baby shriek and shriek. Anders sets the infant, wet-red and wrinkled like a prune, on Rosie’s defeated belly. And that’s when Rosie starts to cry.

“She’s ours, _ mi amor, mia bella, mi corazón,”  _ he’s crying, siddling beside her head to peek down at his daughter. Rosie tugs her daughter to her breast, hears her shrill cries like bells, thinks of nothing but the beauty of her horrid hollers.

“She’s ours,” Rosie cries, tears falling down her cheeks. She feels her heartbeats in her skin, smells the afterbirth on the swirls of dark hair she has. Rosie whispers nothings to her, cries as the baby stops and looks up at her with glowing eyes, so trusting and young. Zevran cries into her hair, all nervous touches and careful kisses along her sweaty hairline. Evony has left to spread the good news and Anders has left to give them a moment of privacy.

“Loving you is a bloodsport,” he teased shakily. Rosie sighed tiredly, reached up to grab at Zevran and kiss him.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“For what?” He half-laughs, looking at their daughter as she nuzzles towards Rosie’s breast.

“For giving me this gift,” Rosie mumbles as she starts to cry again. Zevran holds her, kisses her forehead as Rosie clings to his arm. He watches Rosie help their daughter latch, helps when she needs the extra hands, and he pats her drying hair. She looks up peacefully with her bleary eyes, stares at her father peculiarly, so much so that he laughs at her odd look. When she is done, Zevran burps her. Anders comes back in. Zevran waltzes his  _ mija  _ to the balcony.

He holds his daughter in his arms as her mother passes the afterbirth. Her hair is drying to a soft red. She has a birthmark on her left knee that is redder than the rest of her pink skin. It looks like a flower. Zevran cradles her closer to his naked chest and she snuffles quietly at his smooth skin. Her ears are small and stick out. He laughs at her little nose, giggles in glee as she moves her top lip around. She sniffs and he holds his breath. He smells the amaryllises, watch as they blow in the breeze. She begins to fall asleep, her little body twitching in the weird way that makes his forearms tense. She’s beautiful and perfect and everything about her is the greatest thing he’s ever done. She grabs at the blanket she’s wrapped in-- he sees her tiny fingernails, her little thumbs-- one is held tightly to his index finger. She kisses her forehead and she sniffs like her mother does when she’s being disturbed.

“Amaryllis,” he says quietly. Zevran smiles as he cradles her just a  _ little  _ closer, and she falls asleep for the first time in the great big world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this a better ending?

**Author's Note:**

> Zevran is a very interesting character-- everything has been made into a sport for him; sex, murder, his own life-- I thought I would incorporate that into this. I find I write him a bit too OOC (aka his dialogue doesn't exist because I don't want to fuck it to the moon,) but I am using these shorts character study/practice-to-get-me-out-of-my-funk, so hopefully he'll actually speak in the next one. :D 
> 
> I love how I described Rosie in this; whenever I usually write her, she comes off as very bland and sober; when I think of her, she's always the life of the party, she's always the first to hug someone, she loves helping people and is very, very smart. I find most Tabris' are very angry people that tend to be quite snarky-- which I love so much, don't get me wrong, but I wanted to change that up. Rosie is happy in defiance-- she might live in a muddy slum with no food, but she finds joy in the little things and fights for herself and her people. Rebellion isn't always loud, violent and bloody; sometimes it's a little girl smiling at the world when she doesn't have much reason to.
> 
> anyways, add my da account @ biiitchofcambridge & I follow back as @ abbeyfangirl


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